


FUCK 3.0

by dw_fwedewick_heweiden, orphan_account



Category: Scratch.Mit.Edu, Suicide Squad (2016), Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Crack, Fuck 3.0, Gen, He's scarred for life, Other, Out of Character, Please Don't Take This Seriously, Swearing, That poor janitor, Vandalism, scratch team - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 00:36:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dw_fwedewick_heweiden/pseuds/dw_fwedewick_heweiden, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “So who, exactly, are we threatening? I mean, no matter who it is, I’m down for it, but you never exactly explained how we’re gonna get them to revert the change with a jar of cicadas, Harley.”





	FUCK 3.0

**Author's Note:**

> If you aren't familiar with Scratch, it's a cute little website where you can create your own games and animations. It recently got upgraded, and Scratch 3.0 SUCKS. That's all you need to know.

It is totally dark, and absolutely silent. This was, of course, to be expected, as it is the middle of the night. Outside the MIT media lab, there is no one in sight - except for a clown and a cat.

  
Now, this clown is no ordinary clown, and this cat is no ordinary cat. For one thing, the clown has a giant mallet. For another thing, the cat is talking. In English. And also swearing every two seconds, but we don’t talk about that.  
The clown and the cat both have the same purpose - not to imply that they have a plan, though, of course. Their current mission was completely spontaneous, and had occurred to the clown after a long night of drinking. The cat, always down for anything potentially dangerous, agreed wholeheartedly and completely sober.

  
“So who, exactly, are we threatening?” asks the cat, Blackstar. “I mean, no matter who it is, I’m down for it, but you never exactly explained how we’re gonna get them to revert the change with a jar of cicadas, Harley.”

  
“Anyone and everyone,” Harley replies matter-of-factly, snapping her gum. “Anyone who opposes the change. We’ll throw a cicada at them, and if that fails, we’ll just throw the whole jar and run.”

  
“Well, alright then,” says the cat. “What if we run out of cicadas, though?”

  
Harley stops, holds up the jar, and squints at it. “I can’t really see it...I think we have enough. Why is it so dark?”

  
“Cicadas are a naturally dark bug?” He shrugs. “I dunno. If you think we have enough, we probably have enough.”

  
“Then we have enough.”

  
By this point, the two had stopped in front of the glass doors. They glimmer under the moonlight, reflecting the two and their schemes. Albeit not very well. Since it’s pitch black. And three in the morning.  
“Do they have security cameras?” asks the cat.

  
Harley pauses, a faint look of surprise crossing her face. “I actually never thought of that.” She shrugs. “Oh, well. I’m already wanted in 27 states. So long as we don’t get caught.”

  
“I mean, what would they do with me? Throw me in the pound? I’m a cat.” He snickers. “Besides, I doubt they’d be able to catch me.”

  
“Yeah. How would they handcuff you?” She giggles, snapping her gum again.

  
“I guess with very, very small handcuffs. That are also catproof.”

  
“Right. Let’s go.” Harley takes a step back, getting ready to shatter the glass with her mallet.

  
“Maybe try the handle first,” the cat suggests. “Before you destroy more property.”

  
“You say destroying property like it’s a bad thing,” she huffs. “Fine.” She tried the door handle. It swung open.

  
“...I see they don’t lock any doors around here.”

  
“Oh, come on, Blackie. You can’t judge. You don’t have opposable thumbs.”

  
“True. I just have paws. But still. Locking doors is somewhat of a necessity when you live, well, here.”

  
“The Scratch Team is really, really, really, reaaally fucking dumb.” She snaps her gum yet again. It’s starting to get on Blackstar’s nerves.

  
“Can you stop that?”

  
“I’ll consider it.”

Harley steps inside the pristine building, her heels clicking against the (insert floor material here) floor.

  
Blackstar jumps off of her shoulder and lands relatively hard. He looks around. “Nice place they have here.”

  
Harley looks around. “The fuck are the Scratch people?”

  
“...Harley, it’s the middle of the night.”

  
“Oh.” She stands there for a moment, letting this sink in. “Ohhhh.” She snaps her gum as loudly as she possibly can. “Fuck.”

  
“I guess we could terrorize the janitor and then vandalize the place.”

  
Harley’s face lights up. “That sounds fun!”

  
“You got any Sharpies™?” Somehow Blackstar pronounces the symbol as well.

  
“I don’t, but…He might?” She points across the room at the janitor.

  
Blackstar trots over to him. “Hey stupid-looking twoleg, you got any Sharpies™?”

  
The janitor, predictably, freaks out about the talking cat. “Wh-bu-huh?????”

  
Harley looks down at the feline with confusion. “How did you say that?”

  
“It’s simple. I just said ™. It’s not that hard.” He seems very confused by everyone’s inability to say ™.

  
The janitor, who has observed this exchange silently, is now beginning to comprehend the reality of the situation. It dawns on him that he’s standing less than fifteen feet away from a talking cat (one who can pronounce ™, no less!) and a clown with a giant mallet and a jar of cicadas.

  
“He looks like he’s about to piss himself,” Harley observes.

  
“They need to get stronger janitors.”

  
Harley nods vigorously in agreement. “Anyway, Mr. Janitor, do you have any sharpies?”

  
The janitor makes a strange noise and faints.

  
“...He didn’t answer my question.”

  
“I can check his pockets.” To punctuate that sentence, Blackstar sticks his head inside of the janitor’s pocket. “No Sharpies™.”

  
Harley pauses for a moment, considering the options at hand. “We could look for sharpies on someone’s desk or something?”

  
“That’s a good plan. One of these office workers is BOUND to have at least one Sharpie™.”

The two walk up to the rows of cubicles. Blackstar sniffs the air. “So there are Sharpies™ here.”

  
There’s actually quite a lot of them. There is at least one on each desk. Harley picks one up off the nearest desk and looks down at it, then over at the cat next to her. “What do you even want this for?”  
“To draw on the walls.”

  
“How? You don’t have opposable thumbs.”

“Yeah, but you do. And I can use my mouth, I guess.” He pauses. “Might be hard to draw straight lines, though.”

  
Harley walks over to the wall, uncapping the sharpie. She stops in front of the wall and draws a dick on it. Meanwhile, Blackstar somehow uncaps a different sharpie and starts working on the number 3.

  
By now, the janitor has regained consciousness. Upon seeing the two drawing on the walls with sharpie (and making more work for him), he bursts into tears. Blackstar looks at him. “Nmsfn.”

  
A look of sheer terror crosses the janitor’s face as he gets to his feet, taking a few slow steps back. He isn’t sure if he’ll make it out alive - or at least not without hours of extra work after the two vandals leave.  
Blackstar frowns at him. “Soudsabnbw bmbem shapreo™.”

  
Harley, who by this point has finished her drawing and stepped back to admire it, looks at Blackstar with confusion. “What are you saying?”

  
Blackstar drops the sharpie momentarily. “I said, why don’t you carry around Sharpies™?” He picks the sharpie back up and goes back to work. His drawing currently read 3.0.

  
“Mr Janitor, you really should carry sharpies with you. It was hard to find these! It took a whole extra two minutes.” Harley starts work on another drawing, an even bigger dick.

  
The janitor almost faints again but regains his composure. “H-hey! Stop drawing on the, uh, on the walls! I’m the one who has to clean t-that up, yknow!”

  
Blackstar drops the sharpie again. “Shut up thot.”

  
The janitor is practically in tears. “S-stop! P-please! Mrs. - uh, Mrs. Clown?”

  
“Shut up thot.” Harley starts work on a crudely drawn scene that looks like it’s come straight from Pornhub.

  
The janitor gives up and sits on the floor instead of arguing more. He waits a minute until both intruders are focused on their drawings, and discreetly pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials 911.

A few minutes and a few dick drawings later, the police arrive, apparently not thinking of trying the doorknob like Blackstar had and shattering the door in their entrance. “Freeze!”

  
Harley and Blackstar don’t even turn around. Blackstar’s drawing now reads “3.0 SU”, and he’s just finishing up the C. Harley’s working on her fifth drawing of the same thing.

  
The police stand there like idiots for a second, before one of them picks up a sharpie off of the floor and joins the two at the wall.

  
“Jim, what the hell?” the older officer barks. “Stop that!” Jim pays no heed to the older officer’s shouts, instead starting to draw some sort of hellish abomination on the wall. Or maybe it’s another dick. Honestly it could be either. Jim’s drawing skills are not exactly masterful.

  
Blackstar’s drawing says “3.0 SUCKS ASS” now. Harley’s crouched down to the height of the letters and is drawing little dicks around the margins of the words.

  
The older officer takes a moment to read this. He frowns for a second before also picking up a sharpie and drawing dicks on the wall, much to the janitor’s dismay.

  
Jim looks up with surprise. “Tim, you’re the last person I’d ever expect to do that.”

  
“Eh.” He does not explain further for now. He’s too busy drawing dicks.

  
Also, the janitor is crying.

  
Harley’s scrawled “HQ WAS HERE FUCK 3.0” across the wall in huge letters, and Jim’s hellspawn is looking more demonic and twisted than ever. Blackstar has finally finished his picture and drops the sharpie on the floor, choosing to walk over to the janitor instead. The janitor decides at this moment to faint instead of putting up with this shit any longer, and does so.

  
Blackstar stares at the janitor’s body for a moment. “Oh, well.” He trots back to the wall. Picking up the sharpie, he begins to draw a very crude drawing of Firestar beside of one of Harley’s dicks.  
Harley peers at Jim’s demonic hell-scribble. “What is that?”

  
“Ah...not sure,” admits Jim.

  
Harley shrugs and starts work on the seventeenth dick.

The morning sunshine is bright on the MIT building. Workers are starting to stream in, only to stop at the entrance. There is a passed out janitor in the middle of the floor, with a very strange cat sleeping on him. Also there is a clown and two police officers drawing dicks on the wall, and a jar of cicadas on the floor nearby. Griffpatch shoves his way forward and gapes.

  
Mres gasps in horror. “My beautiful building!” Ceebee bursts into tears. Speakvisually scratches his head.

  
Blackstar is woken from his slumber and turns to look at the staff members. He stares at them for .2 seconds before saying, out loud, in English, “Uh...meow.” He then makes his exit.

  
Harley and Jim turn around at the same time, Jim looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Harley, on the other hand, is grinning proudly, like she’s thrilled to be showing off her great creations. She flips the Scratch Team the bird.

  
Tim is still drawing dicks and pays no attention to the Scratch Team.

  
LiFaytheGoblin turns to Ceebee and whispers, “What the hell?” Ceebee, still crying, just shrugs.

  
There is a moment of silence before Harley begins screaming, “FUCK 3.0! FUCK 3.0!” Everyone stands in shock for a moment, before Jim joins in. “FUCK 3.0!”

  
“You know, I never liked 3.0 anyway,” mutters Mres under his breath. “FUCK 3.0!”

  
Blackstar returns through the vents, but only to yell “FUCK 3.0” a few times before leaving. He is not keen on being sent to the pound today.

  
Tim, the older police officer, surprises everyone when he starts clapping along to Harley’s chant. “FUCK 3.0!” the clown shrieks. “FUCK 3.0! FUCK 3.0!” Soon, most of the office is chanting along with the clown. It’s very loud.

The next morning, users of Scratch everywhere are surprised and overjoyed by a new post in the Announcement forums:

 

_Scratch 2.0 is coming back!  
By Ceebee 3/23/18_

_Hi friends! As many of you know, we recently upgraded to the latest version of our software, Scratch 3.0. Due to reasons, we will now be reverting the change and 2.0 will become the standard once again._


End file.
